Torch Every Timber Shaft Down to Its Last Ember

Torch every timber shaft down to its last ember—
lest shores ever remember, scorch to fullest ember.

Between heating boards war ships gather warmth in their hulls,
entreat to enter cargo of coals, ballast ember.

Enforce without recourse to words this ambush of their
fleet by never surrendering ours to that ember.

Encourage for winter its imminent end, blizzard
with brazen breath which thickens mist spit’s bombast ember.

Trickle from their tips your reddest tongues’ worst vitriol—
bitterness enough to engulf, smother best, ember.

Invectives of fire to deny our clime’s vindictive
visitors due wonder at our unsurpassed ember.

Send to Her errant sailors their Majesty’s favour,
for empire’s martyrs are born here where sunsets ember.

In the end, under stirred waves, nations’ histories are
myths—relics with recurring performances ember.

Mirrored in glasses of amber, our past pressures us
to ask of bad actors whose powers amassed ember.

Was its inciting spark what drew Jono’s ancestors
to master in these forests their dark arts, that ember?